


Day Twenty-Nine: Doing Something Sweet (AKA Please, Please, PLEASE Shut UP, Mrs. Morris!)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [29]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Embarrassment, Emotions, Established Relationship, Feeeeeeelings, M/M, Presents, Schoopy, Sexy Times, silly things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q gets an answer on the knife, they finally get that birthday dinner in, and Bond makes a decision and a present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Twenty-Nine: Doing Something Sweet (AKA Please, Please, PLEASE Shut UP, Mrs. Morris!)

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs* This is about as sweet as I could get ;)

James leaned up against the door jamb and watched Q work.

Loitering around Q Branch was now on his top five things to do with downtime. Between spooking his boyfriend’s underlings, talking shop with the other Double Os that come through for weapons and technology, or rubbing Q’s shoulders as he talks 0016 through an extremely rough bomb defusing or resting his chin on the sharp point of the hacker's shoulder when something goes horribly wrong - _Losing 0010 was a shock to us all, and Q had been hit the hardest. Didn’t help that Mitchell had been in Tel Aviv..._ \- None of that mattered, only that he was there for Q. And when the demons got too noisy in his head and he couldn’t rest or sleep or fuck or drink them away, Q was there for him.

But right now was a slow time, a lull in the world of espionage, and Bond had his shoulder pressed up against the door jamb watching Q use his shiny new knife to strip wires of their colourful plastic coatings with a smile on his face. James could not stop the warm sensation rolling through his chest and gut, and for once, he didn’t feel the panic that came along with such feelings. In fact, he was feeling damned fine, and nothing was going to ruin it for him. Not again.

“I do hope that was meant to be cut like - oh, it was, good, perfect, I’m in good shape, then.”

Listening to Q mutter to himself only made the warmth grow inside him, and James felt the small smile on his lips morphing into more. He let it. His phone trilled in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check the text. _Perfect. Mission: Dinner Date is a go._ He was grinning, now, the expression lighting up in his eyes and along the tired lines of his face, morphing his features into something younger, more alive, kinder. He pushed off the jamb and walked forward until he stood not two feet behind the Quartermaster, then simply folded his hands at the small of his back and waited.

Q muttered a bit more, something about building a small house from the rubbery shavings, and scratched his head with the pry implement, humming under his breath.

James still stood, silent and smiling - no, grinning like a fucking fool. _And so what if I am? I’m the biggest fool here._ He didn’t tap Q on the shoulder, he didn’t try to rush the man, he didn’t even clear his throat, even though they really only had an hour to get to the restaurant before the maitre d’ sold their seats out from underneath them. He simply stood there.

“And honestly, what is the point of bothering with splicing wires together for this? Why can’t I just buy more? It’s not like it’s going to cost the government their left testicle to get more wires. Really.” He set the knife aside and got to work laying out the wires on the table and setting the thick books from the stack next to him on top of them to straighten them out of the curve they acquired from the stripping. “If this blasted thing had an actual wire stripper along with the pry and the rather wicked looking saw, I wouldn’t have this problem. But it’s a present, a lovely present, and I don’t want to let it go to waste. But what else could I use it for? I don’t gut things on a daily basis, unless you count computers, and I can’t see myself setting off for parts unknown in the wilds of Germany or Austria or Norway or Canada and fending for myself for a month.”

James swore that the grin on his face just kept getting bigger. Pretty soon, he’d need plastic surgery to remove it.

“What do you think?”

It took a moment for Bond to notice that Q had stopped working and had turned his head, just slightly, just enough to look at him out of the corner of his glasses.

“I think you like the knife.”

Q smiled, and turned around fully to face Bond. “I do.”

“What do you like most about it?”

A dark shadow passed over Q’s features, the playful glimmer in his eyes going out for just a moment, then it was back. “It’s a nice knife. Why did you get it for me?” Before James could respond with the obvious, Q held up a hand. “And before you say ‘It was your birthday’, I want you to know that I really have no use for something...like this.” He flicked a hand to the blade on the table behind him. “At least, not something that big.”

“Of course you do, Evan. You are using it right now.”

Q cocked his head, the smile returning with a bit of a confused tinge. “I was, yes.”

James looked down, then swallowed slightly and brought his gaze back to the hacker’s. He didn’t look away again. “Sometimes, you can use a tool for more than its intended purpose.”

Q’s head tilted the other direction as he thought about that. He blinked. Swallowed. Blinked again. Bond felt a thrill of _something_ shoot through his nerves when Q’s pupils dilated and he took a tiny sip of air in realisation. Then his arms were full of ten stone ten pounds of hacker and Quartermaster extraordinaire. Q buried his face into the soft, freshly shaved skin under Bond’s jaw, his nose pressing tightly against the agent’s pulse, and wrapped his arms around Bond’s shoulders. “Oh, God, James. _James. You_ \- “

Bond realised Q was crying. Not grossly sobbing, just traces of wetness against his neck and on Q’s cheeks. He lifted his hands and entangled them in Q’s hair, and leaned into the limpet hug. He didn’t want to talk, not really - there wasn’t much to say. What was there to say, after what tumbled out of his mouth just then? He hadn’t intended on making his boyfriend cry. _I don’t know what to do._ His chest tightened uncomfortably, and a small spark of anger at himself knifed through the lump next to his heart - or maybe the lump was his heart. He wasn’t sure. After a long moment of silence, Q pulled back enough to look up at Bond, and the tight feeling disappeared in a flash when he saw the irresistibly adorable grin lighting up Q’s features, glinting in his wet eyes and crinkling the skin around his bright green eyes. He smiled back and smoothed his hands down the hacker’s head and neck, resting his palms on Q’s thin shoulders.

Q sighed, a happy sound.

“Alright, then?”

“Oh, you _impossible_ man.” Q lifted a hand to his cheeks, wiping across one, then the other. “How do you even _breathe_? How do you exist?”

“A little luck, a lot of gall, and a little help from you.”

Q gasped. “Oh, stop it! You and words. When you can get past the cussing and really bad pickup lines, you can really talk someone into your arms.” He rested his head against Bond’s chest and breathed. “You are impossible. An anomaly.”

“And yet, you fall in love with me.”

“Arsehole. You just say these things to get me in your bed.”

Bond grinned. “I always have an ulterior motive. The one in my mind right now is getting you away from your most recent project to go to dinner with me.”

“Oh? Is that such a hardship, Mr. Bond? Using pretty words to get me into your Aston or Jaguar so you can wine and dine me, then take me back to...mine?”

“Yours would work, though I was thinking mine, because my bed is amazing.”

Q rolled his forehead against Bond’s pectoral. “Seriously.”

“Yes. Now, come along. We’ve got reservations at the hardest restaurant to get reservations to, and I’m not cancelling this one.” He backed out of the embrace, leaving Q with his head cocked once again.

“Cancelling...this one?”

Bond turned to walk away, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “A birthday party was more important. And Trevelyan forgot to make the reservation in the first place, so I didn’t _actually_ have to cancel anything. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m not cancelling this one.” He pushed through the doors, and Q sighed.

“Bastard.” He turned back to his project, something that actually had to be done by midnight. “And to hell with this mess. I’ll...do it later. It'll keep.”

  
  
  
  


Dinner had been...moderately amazing, “If such a thing exists.” Q picked at his trouser leg as Bond turned onto Q’s street.

“Moderately amazing?” James nodded. “It does. Well, sort of. It’s something I’d expect you to use to describe something you enjoyed, but wasn’t horribly impressed by.”

Q smiled at his knees. “I suppose. And the portions were so tiny!”

“The price you pay for high-end cuisine, I’m afraid.” James turned his wrist and used one hand to pull into the parking stall, rolling his hand along the inside of the Jaguar’s steering wheel.

“What, starvation and an empty wallet?” Q shrugged.

“Hardly empty. If one can afford that place, then one’s wallet is never empty.”

“Ah, the joys of a paycheck that is ninety percent hazard pay.” Q popped open his door. “I asked M for a raise.”

“And how did that go?”

“He brought up cat ears and tails.”

Bond snorted.

“And animal pyjamas.”

Bond dropped his head to the steering wheel and groaned.

Q smirked. “And, to keep you from blaming yourself for my inability to get a raise, there was an incident three months ago where I nearly blew up MI6.”

“You are kidding me.”

“Twice.”

“Oh, God.”

“In the same hour.”

Bond barked out a laugh. “Get out.”

The smirk turned into a grin that showed Q’s teeth. “With the same project.”

“Fuck, Q. You are going to blow _yourself_ up one of these days.” Bond opened his door and got out, turning back to watch Q as he exited the car. “Build me another DB5?”

Q chuckled. “So you can overcompensate for something you really have no business compensating for in the first place?”

“No, so I can take you for a drive in it.”

“Not on your life. Those things are rough on the tailbone.” Q slammed the car door and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Blame the suspension. Why not?” James felt he could whine with the best of the Double Os when he wanted to.

“Because it’s a waste of allotted funds and manpower.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It really is, James. I’m not building you an Aston.”

“You could modify it any way you want to. I’ll let you fuck around with it. I’ll even let you put in a state of the art...whatever.”

Q paused at the door, keys in hand. “A state of the art whatever?”

“GPS, targeting system for the minigun, rocket pods, a brand new suspension...you  name it, you can put it in.”

Q blinked at him, his eyes lighting up in interest. “Computer system like Audi and BMW? The one I know for a fact that I could do better and make it more accurate? Radar?”

“ _What. Ever. You. Want._ ” On each word, James got closer, and his voice got deeper, until he had Q up against the door and had one hand on the hacker’s stomach and one in his hair, his breath ghosting over Q’s neck. “My word as an agent of Her Majesty’s Intelligence Service.”

“Oh...oh, _God_ , James...” Q angled his back, pressing his shoulders further against the door so that his hips pushed out against Bond’s hand. “Damn you and your mouth.”

“I can do a lot more with my mouth.”

“And don’t I know it,” Q breathed and leaned forward to lick into James’ mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and sliding his lips against James’. “Don’t I _fucking_ know it.”

Bond grinned against Q’s mouth and let him in, tracing his own tongue lightly against teeth and lips, pressing light kisses against Q’s jaw and moving down to suck a mark just beneath the man’s ear. Q’s hips stuttered and jerked against him, the hard line of his erection rubbing against his thigh and making the agent growl in anticipation. “Beautiful, Evan. You are _beautiful_. Don’t stop.”

“We aren’t even inside, you madman. We aren’t even in the foyer. We are out. Side.” Q’s lips fluttered at James’ pulse point, marking the spot he’d cried into with little rose-coloured nips and bites. “Can’t this wait?”

James rumbled out a small apology and grabbed Q’s upper arms and lifted, sliding him up the door and stepping closer so he could balance the smaller man on his hips, kissing along Q’s neck the whole time. Q let out a shivery moan and rocked his hips and arse along the lines of Bond’s thighs. His hands scrabbled along Bond’s arms frantically as their mouths met again, and James grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. Q’s eyes flew wide, his pupils blowing out as a growl rolled out of his slack mouth.

“ _Fuck_.”

James grinned, wolfish and feral, and nipped at Q’s mouth.

“Don’t you two boys have a better place to be playing with each other like that?”

Bond jerked to a halt as Q damn near leaped out of his skin, making the most adorable squeaking yelp as he put himself to rights again. The agent turned around and turned down the grin into a much more socially acceptable muted smile as he faced the little old lady behind them. Q was busy apologising and patting down his rumpled shirt, and Bond laughed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, really.

“Oh, it’s _fine_.” She toddled up, carrying what had to be the largest handbag he’d ever seen in his life over one brittle shoulder and a different bag full of grapes in her other hand. “Nice to see that you young ones aren’t afraid to show your love in this day and age. Why, when I was your age, people of a certain way didn’t dare even hold hands, lest they get arrested for being deviants. Poor things.” She patted James on the shoulder, then turned to Q. “Now, Evan, didn’t I tell you to eat more? You are barely heavy enough to keep yourself from floating away, you know.” She batted at him with her free hand. “You better get up there before you catch your death out here! And tell your darling, dashing boyfriend that he needs to feed you up before you turn into a stick!”

Q stammered and opened the door for the old lady. “There you go, Missus Morris, go on in.” He waved her in, and she talked at him the entire way, patting his chest and shoulder and gripping his wrist once while she impressed on him the importance of condoms and safe sex and lubrication - “You really have to be careful, don’t want to go to Accidents and Emergencies with _that_ sort of injury, now do you?” - and James felt the grin return as he watched the Quartermaster’s face get redder by increments until the poor man had to actually turn away to collect himself.

“You two have a good night, now, and try not to be too loud, I do live near you. Even though my hearing isn’t what it used to be -”

“Oh, Lord... _Yes_ , Missus Morris, yes, good night to you too!” Q shut the door behind her and let out a plantitive howl of horror as James broke down completely, snorting out peals of laughter. “Oh my _GOD_. _Lubricants_ , James! A ninety year old lady just advised me on what lubricant is the best.” He slammed his back up against the wall next to the door and thunked his head against the concrete. “I’m done with this place.”

Bond had to sit down, suit and all, on the dirty pavement because he couldn’t keep upright for the laughter rolling out of him. His arousal had been replaced with the sort of mirth and happiness that just...didn’t come by every day. He drew his knees up and rested his head against them, chuckling into his kneecaps. “She’s hilarious.”

Q pushed off the wall. “ _She_ -” He pointed back to the door, “fancies herself my grandmother." He shook his head. "There’s a single mother down the hall who has three children and two jobs, and they don’t know where the extra three thousand quid a month in their mail comes from. Directly below me is a old bastard who can’t hear shit for peanuts, but still turns down his telly when I get home at three in the morning and I don’t have you in tow. Brandon lives in the flat below the family, and he makes thousands of pounds a month on the international stock market, gives half of it to charity and half of the rest to Charity, the single mother, and lives off ramen and cigarettes and coffee. I work for the British Intelligence Agency and am barely home most of the time, and when I am I’m either coding, drinking, fucking you, or sleeping. But I still make time to sit in the hall and play with Charity's littlest one while she's doing laundry in the basement. And now we have parrots and Alec’s dog and my direct next door neighbor Eric has a key to my flat and actually feeds them all when none of us are able to, because he has nothing else to do since he lives off the state since he lost both legs in Afghanistan.” Q sighed and shrugged. "This is my life."

James dropped his head back so he could look up at Q. “I don’t know any of my neighbors.” He smiled, a bit sourly, but it couldn't be helped. "All I know is my elevator lady, and she's only there two days out of the week, as you know."

Q sat down next to James, resting his head against the agent’s shoulder. “Do you even _have_ neighbors? I thought that was a topic of one of the meetings earlier this month.”

“Something about human interaction and how the Double Os shouldn’t be doing that silly thing anyway because of our individual...quirks, I think the psychologists called it?”

Q snorted. “Something like that.” He looked up at Bond. “Want to move in?”

James nodded. “I think so.”

“Good.”

Kissing on pavement was better than against walls, anyway.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Bond walked into Research and Development a few weeks later, scratching his head and holding a slip of yellow legal paper in his hand. He glanced up and stared at the people scurrying around, holding things that looked like they could explode or bite or possibly start a war.

“My kind of place.” He walked over to R, who was arms deep in a UAV of some sort. “Hello.”

The man twisted around. “Oh. Double O Seven. Hello. Errr...you are in the wrong department.”

“No, apparently I am not.” Bond shook the paper in his hands. “Directions led here.”

R’s eyes flicked around, undoubtedly looking for Q or someone sniggering in a corner. He licked his lips. “Errrm...”

“I’m looking for Bay Six.”

The man’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, God, I told that arse it was a bad idea.”

Bond scowled. “Excuse me?”

R waved that away, and pointed at one of the rolling garage doors. “Over there. Last one to the left. Code is - “

“Written on the paper, don’t worry, I have it.”

R grumbled and went back to his work as Bond walked away, towards the bay door. Once there, he pressed in the alphanumeric, thirteen character long passcode, and with a happy little chirrup, the door rolled up. The lights flickered on, and Bond froze, his brain processing the beautiful thing in front of him.

Silver, it supplied.

“Oh.” Bond breathed, almost to the point of crying himself. “Oh, Q. Evan. You... _impossible_ man. How do you even _exist_?”

 


End file.
